


Remember Me

by positivelyglowing



Series: Spideychelle One-Shots, Prompts, and Requests [5]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Meet the Family, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 20:39:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19342201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/positivelyglowing/pseuds/positivelyglowing
Summary: While doing some much needed spring cleaning of his room, Peter and MJ come across a relic of the past: the Parker Family's old video camera.





	Remember Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!! Day 2 is here and I am so excited to share it with you! 
> 
> Prompt: Meet the Family

“Listen, I know you’re a huge nerd and everything, but..." Michelle’s voice holds a teasing, slightly judgmental edge as she struggles to hold three DVDs in one hand, hastily catching one as it falls out of her grasp. “Do you really need more than one copy of  _The Force Awakens?”_

“Okay, first of all,” Peter starts, defensively holding one finger up, “One of those is Ned’s.”

MJ blinks slowly.

“Second of all, May bought me one as a random gift after I’d already pre-ordered it, and I couldn’t just… you know, give it back,” he reasons. “So, yeah. To answer your question: I  _do_  need three different copies.” Peter turns his attention back to organizing the box of various electronics hastily thrown together by past-Peter.

MJ still seems less than impressed with that explanation. “Okay. Why?”

“Well,” Peter shrugs, mouth pulling into a slight frown. “What if I lose one?”

When she doesn’t respond, Peter glances up, not surprised to find her staring blankly at him, her expression as impassive as it’s ever been.

He relents, letting her toss one of the three into the “give away” bin before promising to give the second back to Ned.

MJ, out of the kindness of her own heart— or out of boredom, either one— has been helping Peter, in her own words, “get his shit together,” for most of the afternoon. Too many times has she tripped over a stray book, his backpack, a hoodie or even a lone pair of boxers on the floor of his bedroom; times where she’s been unable to find the spare iPhone charger through all the spare papers, pens, and God knows what else in that mess he calls a “stuff drawer.”

Now, none of this is to say that Peter is the messiest person in the world, per se. He can be a relatively tidy person when he needs to be; his room is never littered with trash or the general grossness that comes with some teenage bedrooms.

But...

The cluttered state of Peter’s room is often a reflection of his own mind.

Which is why Michelle is there.

Plus, she’d seen one episode of  _Tidying Up with Marie Kondo_  one day when she was home sick from school, and with her room already pretty damn organized-- if she could say so herself-- she has to have  _some_  kind of outlet.

So, in a way, they’re really helping each other.

“Oh, hey,” Peter’s voice cuts through her internal monologue, his attention drawn to an ancient— by today’s standards, at least— video camera at the bottom of his second ‘random tech’ box. “Uncle Ben’s camera!”

For a moment, MJ’s ready to go into full-on  _Comfort Peter in the Best Way She Can Mode_  at the mere mention of his late Uncle, and she’s trying to decide whether she should do a full or half-hug when his fond, distant smile stops her.

“Wow, really?” She inquires cautiously, craning her neck slightly to get a better look at the artifact. “What’s on it?”

Again, Peter shrugs, flipping the screen open as he examines the device. “I dunno. Old home movies. Probably embarrassing videos of me.”

And he immediately regrets that last part, not having to see the cheshire grin that stretches across her features and the playful quirk of her brow to know that they’re there.

His shoulders sag as he rolls his eyes, fighting back a smile. “You don’t wanna watch any, do you?”

“Um, of course I do.” Her brows furrow as she glances side-to-side. “Are you kidding?”

“It’s not even charged, though.”

“So charge it.”

A beat of silence passes between them.

“Okay, fine,” Peter gives in, though he seems to be far from annoyed, searching for the charging cable near the bottom of the tangle of wires.

MJ cracks another smile at him before continuing to sort through his DVD collection.

\--

The old camera feels strange in Peter’s hand, heavier than today’s technology, screen casting a faint blue light as it turns on for what may be the first time in a decade. He’s surprised they’ve even been able to charge it, judging by how old this thing is.

MJ sits on the bed beside him, head resting against his, watching as he navigates the almost laughably ancient menu, an audible, very dated  _beep-click_  sounding at every push of a button.

Neither of them know what to expect as Peter clicks “play” on the first video.

The screen flickers slightly, the lens focusing on what they assume to be the old dining room. A man and a woman are setting the table, chuckling quietly to themselves as they joke with one another. They continue to chat idly as they place the plates and cups down, the context of the conversation lost.

They’re at first only vaguely recognizable to MJ, but the feeling is fleeting, the realization almost instantly dawning on her when she sees the mop of curly brown hair and dark eyes on the man, the cheery smile on the woman’s face.

Richard and Mary Parker.

The date at the bottom of the screen reads:  _August 4th, 2005, 6:07 PM_

Her eyes pass a quick glance to the boy next to her, gauging his reaction. There’s a faint, barely-there grin pulling at the corner of his mouth as he watches his parents interact, neither of them paying any attention to the person filming.

 _“I wanna help!”_  A tiny voice sounds from behind the camera, and the view shifts quickly, showing a much younger Peter bounding into the room, napkins in his tiny hands.

Mary turns, beaming as she talks to her son, crouching down to show him how to fold the napkins.

MJ feels herself mirroring the expression on his mother’s face.

Peter is still silent beside her, and she can only wonder how he’s truly feeling as they both watch. While she has certainly experienced loss in her near seventeen years of being on this earth, she’s never gone through the pain of losing a parent, much less two biological and one emotional.

“My mom and dad,” Peter finally speaks, as if introducing them to her, his voice quiet.

Under normal circumstances, she might tease him for pulling a Captain Obvious, but she refrains.

She hums in acknowledgement.

“It’s crazy…” He starts, eyes never straying from the screen. “I— I don’t really remember much of them, you know? They… Well, they died when I was really little, so I didn’t really get a chance to make very many memories with them, and everything I did remember I kinda forgot. But—” He pauses, a fond smile playing on his lips. “Hearing their voices… Even though it’s not really something I actually remember… It’s almost like… like it all comes back. Like, it’s so clear, you know?”

It’s said that the the voice is usually the first to go, the first thing one forgets about someone else after they’ve gone. And the more she thinks about it, the more MJ realizes just how true it is. She remembers, very specifically, the last time she heard her grandfather’s voice, but it had been so long since then. In that moment, right then and there, she can just barely recall it in her memory.

She knows, however, that if she were to hear it in a recording— or in this case, a home video— she’d remember once again.

Memories are funny like that, she guesses.

“Yeah,” she nods, gently knocking his shoulder with hers. “I get it.”

The video goes on, with the cameraman— who Michelle can only assume at this point to be Uncle Ben— having moved to the kitchen.

A younger Aunt May stands in the room, poring over a recipe on the counter.  _“Damn,_  May,” MJ jokes appreciatively, laughing as Peter gives her a playful shove.

“Don’t even!”

The lens zooms in on May’s face, and she turns, an exasperated grin breaking across her features as she rolls her eyes. She swats at the man behind the camera with a dish towel.

 _“Hey, how ‘bout you put that dang thing away and make yourself useful around here!”_  May teases, her eyes sparkling as an immature-for-his-age giggle is heard from the cameraman.

The video ends as the screen pans down, the next playing with only a second in between.

The date reads: _August 7th, 2005, 3:36 PM_

_“Whatcha got there, Pete?”_

This time, Aunt May’s voice can be heard from behind the camera, the smile in her tone infectious as the little boy beams up at her through a mop of curly brown hair. A slightly-too-big cowboy hat sits on top of his head. He proudly holds up the pinto hobby horse, jumping with excitement.

_“It’s a horsey!”_

Aunt May  _oo’s_  and  _aw’s_.  _“What’s the horsey’s name?”_

Little Peter pats the neck of the toy with semi-gentle, reverent hands.  _“Shunshine!”_

“Shunshine?” MJ asks incredulously, doing absolutely nothing to hide the snort that had escaped.

MJ can hardly blame the kid though; she’s pushing seventeen and she still has trouble with consonant digraphs every once in a while.

“Hey!” Peter laughs along with her, though there was no stopping the red tint that settled over his features. “It’s a great name!”

“Very creative.”

“Shut up.”

Their joined laughter fades as the next few videos play, falling into a comfortable silence as the old Parker living room shows up on the screen. Red and blue streamers adorn the walls, dozens of balloons in the same shades touch the ceiling, a comically large Happy Birthday! is strewn across the banister.

The date reads:  _August 10th, 2005, 4:14 PM_

The camera circles the room, showing off the decorations, before finally landing on the birthday boy himself.

_“What’s your name, sir?”_

A new voice full of mirth and humor asks from behind the lens; his father.

Young Peter looks up, a toothy grin stretched across his chubby face.  _“Peter Benjamin Parker,”_  he answers, emphasizing each word with a firm nod.

 _“And how old are you today?”_  His mother asks, tone laced with hushed excitement.

The boy smiles again, eyes wide, holding up four fingers.

 _“Four years old!”_  Both of his parents gasp-cheer.

_August 10th, 2005, 5:23 PM_

The birthday cake is simple; funfetti with chocolate frosting and red and blue sprinkles, a giant “four” candle placed in the center. Peter wiggles in his chair, eyes wide with wonder as he watches his mother light the wick.

 _“Are you ready, Peter?”_  She asks him, and he nods happily.

Happy Birthday is sung as it should be; full of enthusiasm, each singer being in a different key by the end of the song, cheers filling the room as the candle is blown out.

His mother plants a loving kiss on top of his head before smoothing down his unruly curls.

_August 10th, 2005, 6:16 PM_

The lens briefly goes in and out of focus, showing young Peter as he sits among torn wrapping paper and discarded boxes, his mouth stretched into a toothy smile as he looks at his presents. He jumps up, running around the room to give everyone an enthusiastic hug, thanking them over and over again for the toys.

_August 10th, 2005, 7:02 PM_

_“Happy Birthday, Pete!”_  His family cheers in a happy chorus.

Peter responds with an excited,  _“Thank you!”_

Aunt May briefly glances up, flashing a smile at her husband behind the camera, before looking back at the young boy in her lap. Her arms surround him in a loose, but loving embrace.

 _“Did you have a good day?”_  May asks.

Peter’s answer is an excited nod, followed by an appreciative hum.

Though the snippets of this past life are brief, they’re still able to elicit a familiar warmth from within present day Peter, and he huffs out a quiet chuckle at the way his younger self babbles on and on about how cool his brand new cowboy boots are.

And it’s infectious, as MJ feels the stirrings of the same, incandescent feeling.

The next clip starts from a whole new perspective, it seems.

Seeing as now they’re much closer to the ground, and the excited giggling coming from behind the lens, it seems as if young Peter, at some point, had gotten a hold of Ben’s camera.

_August 12th, 2005, 5:50 PM_

The view is shaky as the little boy darts throughout the apartment, pausing every few feet to film one of his relatives— though he only gets their legs in the shot; he’s only just pushing 3’1”, after all.

_“Whatcha doin’, Pete?”_

A new voice can be heard as a pair of work boots come to a stop in front of the boy, one they hadn’t heard yet.

Michelle can feel Peter freeze at the sound, and she glances at him through the corner of her eye; his gaze is still trained on the small screen, his smile tightening.

Uncle Ben himself crouches down, his tall body barely fitting into the frame, the top of his head partially cut off. A broad smile is stretched across his kind face, green eyes looking over the lens and at the boy holding the recorder.

 _“Filming,”_  young Peter says simply.

_“I can see that! Got anything good yet?”_

The camera moves as the boy nods proudly.  _“Uh-huh. Just like you!”_

_“Just like me?”_

_“Yeah! Are you proud?”_ Though the word comes out more, _“poud.”_

 _“Of course,”_  Ben chuckles gently, reaching over to ruffle the boy’s hair, eyes crinkling as his smile widens. _“I’ll always be proud of you, bud.”_

The video pauses, the screen frozen on the happy scene.

Present-day Peter hasn’t relaxed, his lips pressing together into a thin line, releasing a weighted breath as his thumb hovers over the play button.

MJ’s stomach churns with a new sense of guilt. “We don’t have to watch anymore… if you don’t want to.”

He nods quietly, slowly closing the screen, gripping the camera in his hands, knuckles nearly turning white at the pressure. Michelle sits, arms folding across her chest as she faces the internal struggle of what to say next, still unable to shake the unease festering in her gut.

“It’s just—” Peter starts, his voice cutting off. He sniffs again, glancing away as he preemptively wipes at the corner of his eye. “Hearing him again… his voice…  _seeing_  him actually talk...” He shakes his head. “It just— It  _got_  to me, I guess…” He trails off, his gaze still trained on the wall in front of them.

MJ places a hand on top of his, watching his face as he continues to speak.

“And I thought I was… good now? I don’t know. I mean,” he swallows, trying his best to keep his voice even. “I know that you never really forget them, that you never really move on… And everyone always tells you that it’ll get easier but it doesn’t... But, I guess I just thought that I was actually doing better. That it really  _had_  gotten easier. Maybe I was the exception... I stopped thinking about him every second… I had some voicemails— that he’d left me, before he… you know… but I’d never listened to them, I guess… because I was too afraid. Of what? I don’t know...”

She gives his hand a comforting squeeze, her own heart pounding in her ears.

“Like, I know that it makes sense that I don’t really remember what my parents sound like, their voices. ‘Cause, you know, I didn’t get the chance to. But I never—” His voice is caught in his throat, the shakiness making it harder and harder to speak. He finally turns to look at her, bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes clouded with tears.

“I never thought I’d forget his.”

At that, without a second thought, she opens her arms, and he falls into them easily. She wraps him in a warm embrace, his face burrowing under her chin. He doesn’t weep, tears falling silently instead as she rubs soothing circles on his back.

And she doesn’t know how long she holds him like that, how long they sit there. No words are exchanged between them, though none are really needed.

“Sorry… For making you watch that,” MJ’s voice is nearly inaudible as she mumbles into his hair. “I shouldn’t have pressured you.”

“No, uh—” This time, he shakes his head, the quiet sniffle between words not going unnoticed. “No. No, it’s okay,” he reassures her, finally pulling back, though he still stays in her arms. “It’s actually really nice… seeing my parents. Seeing Ben. I’m not gonna say that it’s like they never left... But it’s like they’re still with me,  _he’s_  still with me, in a way.” His lips quirk into a sad smile, his hand reaching up to wipe at his eyes again. “And… I’m glad you got to see them.”

Michelle finds herself easily returning his bittersweet expression.

While she’d never had the chance to meet his parents, from the short clips she saw, she could tell that they loved each other and that they truly loved their son. She’d also never properly met Uncle Ben, only seeing him in passing as he’d pick up Peter from middle school, or come to decathlon meets in their Freshman year. It wasn’t much, only snippets of their actual lives, but even the smallest glimpse made her feel closer to Peter, to his family.

It was a feeling she’d treasure for years to come.

Perhaps in a more emotionally stable state, she’d make fun of herself for being so cliche, so dramatic. But at this point, right in this moment, she didn’t care.

Her lips press together into a small, faint smile as she takes his hand in hers again.

“I’m glad I got to see them, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This fic was a very emotional one to write, but I hope you all enjoyed it! The title is based off of the incredibly moving song from the masterpiece of a movie, "Coco." 
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @spiderman-homecomeme and on twitter @sm-homecomeme <3
> 
> and once again, pls no ffh spoilers in the comments!! thank u ily


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